


What the Heart Wants

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Getting Together, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-The Hanging Tree, Relationship Discussions, nightingale pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-03 22:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: It seems to me that there is nothing more disheartening upon making the discovery that you are in love with your apprentice as realising that your apprentice is in love with you.





	What the Heart Wants

It seems to me that there is nothing more disheartening upon making the discovery that you are in love with your apprentice as realising that your apprentice is in love with you.

I had tried so desperately to keep my deep affection for Peter unknown to him that it never occurred to me that he was struggling to do the same until the night things all came to a head.

Though perhaps I'm being disingenuous. Peter, I find, often doesn't analyse his feelings, he just feels, a luxury I would never wish to deprive him off. It isn't completely unlikely that until that moment he hadn't couched his feelings into anything as definite as love.

I, on the other hand, had long ago realised, as I sat across from Peter at breakfast or watched the way he studied, head bent close over his book, that I felt much more for him than I should.

I tried to tell myself it was simply lack of opportunity – that I had shut myself away and whilst I had some friends and some colleagues, I had no one I could talk to about magic and my life the way I could with Peter and that I was rather overcompensating for it. So I tried to back off a little, keep my distance and think only of teaching Peter and nothing more.

Peter didn't seem to notice anything was different though, and I considered that point from all angles, asking myself if this was because Peter had never given a second thought to our relationship outside of my being his boss, or if I had just been fooling myself into believing that I was managing to separate my feelings.

Given the volume of cold coffee I drank that month I can guess what Molly thought.

* * * **

I thought the situation would improve when Lesley May joined us, if only by ensuring that Peter and I spent less time alone together, but if anything I think that compounded the problem.

I still remember as if it were yesterday Peter coming to me and telling me that Lesley May had accidentally learnt magic. Had accidentally been taught magic was rather more to the point; I should have known that someone as enthusiastic about the learning process as Peter would be unable to keep his knowledge from one of his closest friends. I listened as Peter tried to justify himself, telling me that she was a brilliant police officer. I heard the words “much better than me” even though he didn't say them aloud.

I finally managed to silence him by saying that I would meet with her myself, and we could perhaps proceed on a trial basis.

I remember the way her eyes searched mine out when we sat and had tea at an almost deserted cafe in Brightlingsea. I thought then that she was seeing how I would react to the mask, and I think so still, but there was something else there as well that I was too blind to see. She was daring me, I could tell, to say that the Folly was no place for a woman, but the truth was the idea of using that argument hadn't occurred to me. As far as I have ever been concerned magic is there for those who wish to learn it and learn it properly and whatever Peter may think, I do have a rudimentary concept of equalities legislation.

“So this is what I have to do now?” Lesley May had said.

“It's not a case of _having_ to do anything,” I said. I was trying to be so careful then, about being a neutral party. “But clearly you have an aptitude for magic.” I just about stopped myself from adding that Peter would like her to join the Folly. “There are oaths of course, and we will need to consult with the Commissioner, but I think under the circumstances...”

“My face falling off,” she interrupted.

“...I'm sure he'll be happy with whatever arrangement we come to.”

“So you want me to become a wizard?” she asked.

“You have to want it for yourself, Lesley. There's a lot of hard work involved. It isn't for everybody.”

“If Peter can manage, so can I,” she said. It was one of many such comments that I should have called her on, but didn't.

“And you're prepared to have me as your teacher and your supervising officer?” I asked, because I wanted to get that clear, before we got into a detailed discussion of the oath she would have to swear.

I could see her warring between saying what she really felt and giving up an opportunity to get back to the Met, even if it wasn't doing the work she really wanted.

“Of course, sir,” she said and just like that I had gained my second extraordinary apprentice.

She's never particularly liked me, I always suspected that. I just never thought that it would be a problem, given there were teachers I had at school I didn't particularly like but who taught me well all the same. The least I hoped for in that moment was that I would be a good enough teacher to satisfy her.

I think I failed on many counts where Lesley May was concerned.

* * * * *

I failed most obviously to keep my preference for Peter from interfering with my duty of care to Lesley. Our relationship could never really get around the fact that I chose Peter, but had Lesley chosen for me. There were other things at play of course, outside influences that I hadn't anticipated until it was far too late, but that was the fundamental flaw in our relationship.

It was her face of course that was the sticking point. She simply refused to accept both mine and Peter's assertions that magic could not fix her. Or perhaps given later events that _my_ magic was unable to fix her face.

She near enough accused me once, in her roundabout way, of not caring enough to fix her, that if it had been Peter I wouldn't have slept until I had found a way to fix his face.

The fact that there was even a modicum of truth to this spurred me on to provide extra tutoring to Lesley, ostensibly to help her catch up to Peter's level, but also to show her that as my apprentice she was still my responsibility, and that I would protect her just as I would Peter. Just as I would any of my colleagues.

I think we can all agree I failed spectacularly in that regard as well.

* * ** *

And all the while my feelings for Peter remained the same, a deep longing that ceased to cause me pain, just made me very glad that he was in my life.

My feelings didn't dim or waver, not even after Lesley May's betrayal or when Beverley Brook became a permanent fixture in his life. I was pleased, if anything, that Peter had someone he could rely on in a way I could see he never would with me. That did make my heart ache sometimes, late at night when I couldn't sleep, the shadows of too many dead keeping me awake. But I knew there was a level of trust between them, a level of openness, that was forever closed to me.

* * * * *

It all came to a head, as it so often does, with Martin Chorley.

We, Peter, myself and Sahra Guleed, had tracked him to Luton airport where we believed he was attempting to leave the country. Lesley's whereabouts were unknown to us.

He was pontificating, as was his wont, at Peter while I was dealing with some demon traps he'd placed on a plane. Once I'd managed to release the passengers and as Sahra was leading them away to safety I turned just in time to see Martin Chorley burying Peter under a pile of cars.

Peter seems to put his life in peril every other moment, so you'd think I'd be used to it by now, but my heart definitely skipped a beat before I was running towards him, throwing my magic at Martin Chorley, hard enough to throw him a good distance away and cause him some damage (when Sahra was finished calling for armed backup she ran towards where Chorley had been and only found a sizeable pool of blood).

Meanwhile I was lifting cars out of the way, trying to be quick and careful and then I saw Peter, huddled in a space between the cars, his shield barely holding up to the pressure. Never had I been more glad that I'd taught Peter that spell or that Peter was such an able student.

* * * * *

Peter was fine, mostly. A few bruised ribs, a cut on his cheek, and the strain of keeping up a level of magic he wasn't quite trained for. He had a headache and was exhausted and Abdul insisted he spend a few days in hospital.

I stayed with him that first night, Beverley being out of town working on a research project for her course. Peter tried to keep up a conversation at first but then he admitted that sleeping for the next two days would be his preference and I told him to pretend I wasn't there.

“Wouldn't want to do that,” he whispered, before slipping into sleep.

I tried not to read too much into that, for which I'd had a considerable amount of practice.

* * * * *

I did a crossword from a day old newspaper and flicked through some magazines that Sahra had left for Peter – learning some interesting facts from _The Architectural Review_ in the process I would be sure to drop into conversation with Peter if only to see his face light up with surprise that I was taking his interests seriously.

After that I started writing up my notes, trying to get my thoughts in order. It was disappointing that Chorley had once again escaped justice, but I couldn't leave Peter unattended in case he decided he wanted to finish the job.

By the time I was finished with the semblance of a report that would suit both the greater Metropolitan Police and our own files my eyes were starting to close of their own accord so I began to settle in for sleep myself. I pride myself on being able to sleep anywhere at any time, so it didn't take long for me to drift off.

I was woken by Peter shifting in his sleep and then calling out. At first I couldn't tell what he was saying, but then I realised it was my name.

I moved towards his bed, sat down on it and took hold of his arms so he wouldn't hurt himself.

“Peter, Peter, wake up.”

He came alert shockingly quickly, eyes wide, chest rising and falling so rapidly I was worried he would run out of breath. And then he shook off my hands and pulled me into a desperate kiss.

It took all of my willpower not to react but to simply push him gently back on to the bed.

“Shush, Peter,” I said, and other soothing nonsense as he lay his head on the pillow. “Go back to sleep.” He didn't seem to have the energy to argue and I allowed myself to gently run my fingers through his hair until his breathing slowly evened out.

* * * * *

We didn't mention it the next day. If Peter didn't remember I didn't want to remind him and if he did remember and wanted to forget it ever happened, well, I could hardly blame him.

Abdul kicked me out of his room while Peter was given the once over and by the time I'd washed my face and straightened my clothing Beverley Brook had arrived and I judged it safe enough to leave the hospital and head back to the Folly.

By the time I got there Peter had decided that what he needed was some time away, to which he was certainly entitled and so he and Beverley disappeared for a week in the sun. I tried to convince myself that the kiss had nothing to do with it, but was deathly afraid that I had lost him forever.

* * * *

My immediate solution, of which I am not proud, was to go and do something I hadn't done for many years, and that was seek out a stranger to have sex. It wasn't as hard as it used to be to find someone I was attracted to and who was open to a one night stand. I chose someone who looked as dissimilar to Peter as I could and booked a discrete hotel room, the Folly of course being out of the question.

The sex was satisfactory, my chosen partner certainly knew how to make me gasp and lose myself in sweat slicked skin, but when he left some hours later I was no more satisfied than I had been before.

* * * * *

In Peter's continuing absence Sahra and I had been working hard to locate Martin Chorley and Lesley May and were making considerable progress. So much so that when the day Peter was due back arrived I was concentrating on the case and had no room left for trepidation. Just as well, in the circumstances.

When I heard Peter's car return I decided to greet him and see the lay of the land. Only it was Beverley Brook in the driving seat, and Peter was nowhere to be seen.

“Is Peter all right?” I asked and Beverley just looked at me with an expression on her face I couldn't read.

“If I said this had to stop, would it?” she asked me.

I knew it was pointless to pretend I didn't understand the question.

“I wouldn't know how,” I told her. Loving Peter had become as natural as breathing.

I couldn't tell if this upset Beverley or not. “You need to talk to Peter,” she said, and then got back into Peter's car and drove away.

* * * * *

Peter came home that evening looking worse than when I'd last seen him in the hospital. He stood in the doorway to the magical library where I'd been doing some research in a futile attempt to keep my mind occupied.

I hesitated about whether to stand up to greet him and he sat down in front of me before I'd decided what I wanted to do.

“Are you all right?” I asked him. He smiled at the ridiculousness of the question.

“I've been better. Any leads on Chorley?”

“I think we may be closer than ever, actually,” I said, happy to delay the talk of more personal matters. “I was waiting for you to get back before making plans.”

He nodded and smiled at me a little. “So I'm still your apprentice?”

“Why on earth would you think you weren't?” I asked.

“I kissed you,” he said, in a rush, words jumbling together. “It was unprofessional.”

“You were upset and tired and half asleep. If Beverley had been there you'd have kissed her too.”

Peter snorted. “This is you letting me off the hook, isn't it?” I didn't answer. “We can just go back to normal?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Is that what you want?”

“It's what you...”

“No, don't do that,” he interrupted angrily. “You keep doing that and you keeping acting like I don't notice but I do. I notice every time you try to protect me. Just like I know you notice every time I do it to you. Tell me what _you_ want.”

“Peter,” I said and then stopped, trying to get my thoughts in order. “I've been in this situation before. It wasn't easy, finding men willing to openly return my affections. I – I just want you to be happy.”

“ _Jesus,”_ Peter swore and when I turned to look at him I realised just how upset he was. “You get to be happy too,” he said.

“You're safe and well, Peter. Nothing else matters.”

Peter stood up abruptly and took a turn around the room. “You really mean that, don't you?” he said finally. Then he was pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “Beverley said you should read this.”

Cautiously I took the envelope and removed the letter inside. I read it quickly once and then more slowly a second and third time.

“ _I wouldn't know how not to love him either._

__

__

_This isn't a new feeling for him. He's been in love with you as long as you've been in love with him, and I expect one day he'll actually tell you that himself._

_I don't need to hear the details. I know you won't hurt him. I promise I won't either._

_And you have a standing invitation to dinner every Saturday which I expect you to honour every week.”_

I smiled at the last line, finally and handed Peter the letter for him to read; Beverley would have said if she didn't want him to know what was in it.

“Oh,” he said and slowly sank down into his chair.

“It's your choice as much as it is mine,” I said. Then I took a deep breath and moved forward a little in my seat. “But if Beverley is willing to try and make this work, I certainly am.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Can you – do you mind if I – I just have to...” And he got up and walked out of the room.

Something in his manner made me think he wasn't just fleeing the scene so I picked up the nearest book to me and tried to read it.

When Peter came back into the room he moved straight towards me, gently removed the book from my hands and placed it carefully on the floor and then perched on the arm of my chair.

“I phoned Bev,” he told me. “She said if I didn't kiss you properly tonight I'm going to explode or she's going to make me which will just be embarrassing for all of us so...”

I pulled Peter close and kissed him quiet, because I could.

And because Beverley would expect nothing less.  



End file.
